


When the Lights Fade

by orphan_account



Category: Goosebumps (2015), Goosebumps - All Media Types
Genre: Bullying, Canon Jewish Character, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Growing Up, Hanukkah, Jewish Holidays, POV Jewish Character, That dang Stephen King
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5299634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight glimpses into R.L. Stine's life as centered around Chanukah, from childhood to adulthood, from wannabe writer to bestseller.</p><p>Movie!Stine/Movie!verse</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Lights Fade

**Author's Note:**

> Never a fan of big holidays or family gatherings, a young Robert Stine is hardly pleased when his parents throw a giant Chanukah party at their home. Still, the holiday brings with it a gift that is going to change his life forever.

Maybe he really was invisible. The thought had dawned on him earlier in the evening but only then was really starting to make sense. With the throngs of other guests at the Stine house, enough to make a can of sardines look cozy, and not a single one seemingly able to notice him, he had to wonder if his comic books really were getting at something.

Robert’s lanky frame moved past the guests, clustered here and there in small groups, with ease. The room was dark enough already with the lights dimmed, but the added smoke that hung high in the air only made the place even darker. The scent of tobacco filled the house, the only stronger smell being his great aunt Edith’s perfume, which even from two rooms over filled his nostrils.

He forced back a cough as he headed towards the stairs. His room had always been a safe haven, but never quite as literally as this. At this rate he would need to borrow his grandfather’s gas mask from the Great War if he wanted to stay down any longer. Yet each breath, heavy and wheezing, did nothing to break through his transparent facade, not an eye falling on him.

Not even his cousins Samuel and Fred noticed him, the set of twins too engrossed in a conversation with each other by the stairs that they didn’t so much as give him even a glance. No jeers, cold glares, or even a simple snide remark. Maybe this was his real gift, this invisiility. If it continued then none of the neighbor kids would say a thing to him; by the time that they would probably notice that he was “gone” they probably wouldn’t even care.

His grin grew wider.

The whole house had changed with the throng of guests inside, the packed hallways seemingly longer, the rooms smaller, and even the stairs seeming to go higher. Still, there was an unusual spring to his step.

It wasn’t any quieter upstairs even with the packs of people far below. The noise seemed to head upward, rising like heat, and bits and pieces of conversation merged together to form an unescapable blanket of sound. It was even louder than the creak of his footsteps against wood.

“Robert?”

The word froze him in place. His heart fell in his chest.

“Got tired of the antics downstairs too, huh?”

He turned, giving a weak smile. “Uncle Howie,” he spoke. A question, some sort of small talk, almost left his lips but just as quickly died on his tongue. Robert supposed that he didn’t mind; uncle Howard had never been one for useless bantering over the weather.

“I can’t blame you for wanting to leave,” he commented. He was in his parents bedroom, sitting at the edge of their bed with a cigarette in hand. “Not even a year can prepare me for the next big family reunion.” He chuckled, but the sound quickly mixed with a cough, and only ended after what must have been at least a quarter of a minute of his uncle wheezing into his jacket sleeve.

Robert nodded. “I don’t know why we do this every year.” His arms wrapped around his chest. “It’s not like we ever have anything worth meeting over.”

This time, his uncle’s laugh was pure. “Don’t let my wife hear that or she’ll have a conniption. She always makes a big fuss over the holidays. Just be glad that we live a good few hours south or you’d be spending everything from Sukkot to your cousin Jimmy’s at our house.” He paused for a moment to take a drag. When he next spoke, smoke left his mouth like that of a dragon ready to let loose a roar. “You doing okay, Robbie?”

He bit his lip. Only a few steps away was the door to his bedroom. The heavy wood, a deep and clean shade of brown, did more to hide him than any dreams of being an invisible boy ever could.

“I guess that things could be worse.”

There was another chuckle. “You’re quite the optimist.” He held a hand up and motioned him forward before patting at the space beside him. “So, any big plans?”

Robert sat down, his eyes on his shoes. “To be frank, no.”

“Well, at least your mother taught you to be honest.” He paused for a moment. “So you really have no big plans for the future? No big dreams?”

His eyes widened. “Oh, I misunderstood you.” His voice rose. “I do have plans and dreams.”

“How big?”

“Big enough to get rich and famous.”

His uncle grinned. “Now that’s what I was expecting to hear. So, what are those big plans? Become a movie star like your cousin Samuel wants to be? Enlist in the army and become a war hero?” Robert had to force back a laugh at this. One cough and a look at his owl-eye glasses and he’d be sent away from the battlefront before he could even get there.

“I want to be a writer.” He had never quite said the words out loud until then, but the words sounded right on his tongue. Yes, a writer… He could see it already, his books everywhere. It was one thing to read the piles of books in his room and another to imagine to think of just how those books got written. One day someone was going to go searching through a library, digging through a bookstore, or peering through a box of books bought at a garage sale and find something that he had created.

His uncle raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to write?”

“Oh, you know, books. What else do people write?”

The two shared a chuckle.

“It certainly sounds a bit more realistic than what your cousins have planned.” The two were silent for a moment. “You know, I always wanted to be a famous singer, the kind that gets their songs played over and over on the radio. But that dream died before I could even try to pursue it. I could never carry a tune, and the world is probably better off not hearing me anyway.” His tone dropped, and he quickly began to smoke again. “Hopefully, things will go a bit better for you.”

Robert didn’t say anything in reply. The silence built, heavy and hard, in the few inches between them, the only sound being Robert’s coughs and the steady sound of chatter coming from downstairs. After what must have been ten minutes, the longest that he had ever been through, he got up and walked to his room.

-

His mother really must have wanted to prove something if she was doing this two nights in a row, though he couldn’t guess what. The noise coming from downstairs was even louder than the night before, as if his whole extended family had come inside to yell at each other. Not even his thick wooden door could block all the noise.

This time, he hadn’t bothered to head downstairs. It would probably be a lot like the night before, only the guests would probably be a bit rowdier and louder. This was certainly nothing worth missing.

Robert grabbed a book and leaned further into his desk chair. The crowd of people downstairs probably wouldn’t even notice that he wasn’t there.

The sudden knock to his door, perhaps minutes or hours later, was so loud that Robert almost fell from his chair. He placed his book down, spine up, and turned to the door.

“Come in,” he said, voice shaking slightly.

His mother poked her head in. “What are you doing up here? You missed seeing the candles get lit!”

Robert opened his mouth to reply, but his mother spoke before he could even get the slightest sound out.

“They’re passing presents out downstairs and you got quite a few.” She motioned for him to come forward. “Come on, you can’t just stay up here. It looks rude.”

Quickly, Robert stood and followed her downstairs.

There did seem to be even more people than usual, as if people from even the smallest, furthest off branch off the family tree had arrived. Great Aunt Edna waved to him when he came downstairs.

“I was wondering where you were,” a familiar voice spoke.

Robert turned.

Uncle Howard stood in the downstairs hallway near the living room, a large package in his hands. It was wrapped in newspaper and a bow made of twine. He walked forward and held the package out.

The package nearly fell from his hands, and almost would have had his uncle not grabbed at it.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I saw this earlier today and it made me think of you. It was good that I talked to you yesterday or I never would have known what to have gotten you.”

Robert raised an eyebrow before wordlessly ripping off the newspaper.

“You, you…” The irony of having no words didn’t pass him by. “It’s beautiful.”

“Heh, glad to know you like it.” His uncle’s grin widened.

“I love it.” He had seen typewriters like this before in store windows and at school, but never had one of his own.

“I’m glad you like it more than that awful sweater Rachel was going to get you.” He laughed. “She almost opposed getting it, but I told her that I’d split the price, said that you’d be excited about it.” He gestured towards the living room. “Go give her a big hug for me, okay? She’ll be glad to know that you like it.”

Robert nodded, and with a renewed vigor helped his uncle place the box down on the floor before running to the living room. A thousand eyes were probably on him when he ran up to his aunt, but their collective gaze didn’t stop him from squeezing her tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to note that while I’ve read Stine’s autobiographical works, I made up his family in this fic. Movie!Stine is way different from real life Stine after all.


End file.
